Big life seen in small wonders

To be the final resting place of so many, St. Matthew Cemetery was teeming with life recently.

As we drove home from Mount Vernon a couple weekends ago, we took a detour through St. Matthew Cemetery, off Tile Factory Road, to admire the stone sculptures that serve as memorials for those buried there. A favorite is Mary with her arm wrapped around the cross.

Driving through the cemetery, we noticed birds had chosen some of the headstones for nests. We found this odd. We drive through cemeteries on a somewhat regular basis to see the various headstones, especially older or more ornate ones, and had never noticed such aviary habits.

What is it about St. Matthews Cemetery that makes it a desirable location for these birds, Robins, to nest there? There are no trees for shade or protection, and many of the nests were built so close to the ground that we could peer in and see the eggs. Perhaps it’s the quiet solitude. Cemeteries don’t get frequent visitors, and those who visit are often very reserved. The birds probably don’t see them as a threat.

As we were leaving the cemetery, we noticed one bird on a nest. This bird had a particular strained and strange appearance. As we looked around, we noticed others with similar expressions and in similar positions. We decided perhaps, on this day, Saturday, May 22, these robins were laying their eggs.

Further research told me that, though Robins do lay between April and August, and often lay two-to-three clutches a year, they only lay one egg a day, and it’s usually in mid-morning. Also, Robins will normally lay until there are four eggs.

We got the opportunity to peer inside one nest, and there were three eggs, probably about three inches long. Odds are, one was laid earlier that morning, and another was laid the following morning, rounding out her clutch.

Most of the research I’ve done about the birds and their eggs since Saturday indicates these birds are Robins, which is what we thought when we saw them. However, laying eggs without the protection of a shade tree or ledge of some sort doesn’t seem to match the habits of Robins. And there might be more different kinds of birds nesting in the cemetery.

Whatever kind of bird, I’m glad they’ve chosen St. Matthew as a home, and I’m glad we got the opportunity to witness their habits and their beautiful eggs Saturday.

Hopefully, anyone who visits St. Matthews will respect the birds and their nesting space and not get too close when the birds are nesting. I only stayed long enough to snap one or two photos of the eggs, and I didn’t get close enough to the nesting birds to get anything great.

As if our encounter with the birds wasn’t enough, before we got home for good, we saw what I’ve come to think of as a summer snow.

Later Saturday afternoon, in New Harmony, near the Atheneum, showers of small white puffs could be seen floating to the ground. I’ve since been told this was due to the cottonwood trees in the area and is a phenomena that runs throughout the spring and into summer.

The seeds of the cottonwood, the Eastern Cottonwood in this instance, are contained in a cottony mass that is easily airborne. The seeds are tiny – a small fraction of an inch.

The New Harmony area must be filled with the cottonwood, because these seeds were falling like a fluffy snow. The sunlight and cottony seeds transformed the already beautiful Wabash riverbank area into a scene almost magical.

I even saw some in Mount Vernon Monday morning.

This weekend’s experiences showed me that sometimes, the hugeness of existence is most apparent in the smallest things.

first-century journalist?

During Palm Sunday's homily, our reverend asked us to pick a person who was part of the Holy Week scene and follow that person throughout Holy Week - try our best to put ourselves in that person's shoes. It wasn't hard for me to get on board, because I had considered what it might be like to be someone involved in Jesus' life and his death. Not sure why, but my first thoughts aren't toward the major players - Jesus, Peter, the other disciples, etc. - at least not the most popular ones. I've often wondered what it was like to be Judas Iscariot, Pilot, Thomas (mainly in the days after the resurrection) or the soldier whose ear was cut off by one of the 12 then healed by Jesus. And while I might pick one of those characters at some point, this year, I decided to go with what I know.
I don't know much about the spreading of the news back in the first century, other than most of it was done by word of mouth. Obviously, people wrote, and it would appear by reading the gospels that people kept track of the things Jesus said.
At this point, I'm torn between trying to imagine myself as a "news" person in the first century would have been in that particular culture and time, or to try to imagine myself as a time traveler who was just sat down, for lack of a better phrase in first-century Jerusalem during Holy Week.
I soon decided, as hard as it might be, to try my best to put myself in the position of someone actually there. I can't really put myself in the situation of a time traveler, because I know too much about all that has happened since then, and I operate within the structure of 20th-21st century journalism and all its philosophies, ethics, etc.
At this point, I'll say that I doubt Rev. Martha ever intended for me to make it this hard. But it's just my way, I guess.
With what little information I have at this point about how news was spread during Jesus' lifetime and whether there were people whose purpose was to gather news and post it in a central location in the city or share it orally, I'll have to do more research and make my best guess at what it would have been like. I look forward to learning more about life in the first century. Included in the information I'd like to find out is how much influence the government and/or religious leaders had on news that was spread. It's obvious people couldn't just go around saying they were the savior of humanity, the Messiah, etc., so people probably weren't as free overall to say what they wanted as we are here today. Knowing more about this would be one key in imagining the perspective of someone whose purpose it was to gather and report events during Jesus' lifetime.
Though I have more thoughts running through my head right now, like how I can't help but wonder how I would have covered the events surrounding Jesus had there been journalists then — what it might have been like on Palm Sunday as Jesus rode into town, who I might have interviewed, and whether I would have actually believed Jesus was the Messiah — I'll save those for a later blog.

People come and go

"As for man, his days are like grass,   he flourishes like a flower of the field;
 the wind blows over it and it is gone,  and its place remembers it no more"
Psalm 103: 15-16  NIV

"Just walkin' the streets death can take you away, It's never guaranteed that you'll see the next day ... But if I fall asleep and death takes me away, don't be surprised son, I wasn't put here to stay ..."
Fugees - "Family Business"

The excerpt from Psalms was part of Ash Wednesday service, and the Fugees lyrics are from an album I've been listening to lately. These are two of a few instances lately that have reminded me of those in my family who have died and of the idea of death, in general.
A little more than two years ago, my grandfather died, and a few months ago, an aunt of mine died. Several years ago, I lost another uncle. I was so much younger then that the experience seems different now. Or maybe it's just starting to happen a little more often.
I'm pretty lucky. Three of my four grandparents are still alive. I still have my parents, all their siblings, great aunts and uncles, etc. And I have a wonderful immediate family - my wife and beautiful daughter. Just because they're not older doesn't mean I should appreciate having them less.
Still, lately, I find myself thinking of death more.
Maybe it's the season. Lent is a season of deprivation, death.
Maybe it's fear. Death is something of which I'm very afraid. I hope to work on that. I want to find a peace with death. It's part of the cycle. It has to happen. I should get over myself or whatever.
In case anyone's wondering, I don't really have a point with this blog. It's just what's on my mind.
However, I don't want to leave things at that.
Though none of us are put here to stay, there are ideas, concepts, feelings?, that survive us all. And the impact of our existence, or, to borrow a term, our footprints, are around forever.
I've gotta leave the world one of these days. I should accept that. And I should count myself very blessed if it can honestly be said that I left it a little better off than I found it.

To continue the Psalm above with the very next verse, But from everlasting to everlasting, the LORD's love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children's children."

"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails." I Corinthians 13:7-8

Heavy with Sleep - a lenten sacrifice

"But Peter and they that were with him were heavy with sleep: And when they were awake, they saw his glory, and the two men that stood with him." Luke 9:32
Recently, this verse was part of church liturgy, and as usual when I hear this passage, the phrase "heavy with sleep" jumped out at me. A similar phrase in another part of scripture also jumps out at me for the same reason — " ... for their eyes were heavy." Matthew 26:43.
The latter reference is part of scripture telling the story of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane — a story that will come into play more during the week preceding Easter.
When I was a teenager, growing up in church, every year, the excerpt from the Garden of Gethsemane would come up, and every year, I'd think the same thing about Peter, James and John (according to Matthew's account, these are the three Jesus took with him to the garden the night he was betrayed). I'd think, "What losers. They couldn't even stay awake while Jesus (son of God, savior of the world, etc.) prayed. He clearly asked them to stay awake more than once, but they couldn't?" I mean, here Jesus was, not only knowing of the horrible death that would be his fate the very next day, but asking God to, if at all possible, keep it from happening.
In my younger days, I was, and still am to an extent, a night owl. I'd stay up late during high school. During college, my various commitments with the campus newspaper, my work-study job in public relations, my off-campus job and academic demands (often in that order of priority) made for many all-nighters. I can remember one occasion when I stayed up three nights straight (more than 72 hours) before I finally succumbed. So it just didn't make any sense to me that these guys couldn't stay awake an hour or two. At that point in my life, praying for that long, like Jesus did, seemed way harder than staying awake talking to your pals.
Fast-forward to now. I'm in my mid-30s. I'm a parent. And I have a demanding job that often requires me to work long, odd hours. Translation — I'm tired. Unlike Peter, James, John, Jesus and the gang, I have a climate-controlled environment to live and work in, a vehicle (I don't have to walk everywhere I need to go) and a nice comfy bed to sleep in at night. Still, I'm tired.
My point here is not to complain about being tired. In fact, I have more energy now than I've in the past several years. I'm trying to eat right, losing a little weight, etc. Still, the idea of pulling an all-nighter these days fills me with dread. I have done it once or twice in the past year, but I certainly felt it the next day. And more often than not, I'm not able to pull it off - nodding off in my chair, leaning back to "rest my eyes" as my granddaddy used to say.
Now, it's clearer to me why it was hard for Jesus' followers to keep up. Biblical accounts paint Jesus as a man who knew what his purpose was. He was motivated. He knew what had to be done and was more-than willing to do it. He knew the ramifications. He saw the bigger picture. Those following him most likely didn't. Even if they had a glimpse of what the whole thing meant, relatively speaking, the had no idea. As a result, I imagine they were somewhat less motivated and impassioned.
They were also adults with hard lives, so it makes sense that they were tired and more-than-ready to fall asleep the first chance they got to rest. I can't imagine what it was like to be a follower of Jesus, but I imagine most days were full of various trials and stresses, especially those leading up to the day of his death. Life experience has given me much more sympathy for Peter, James, John and the rest.
It's hard to keep watch. With all the distractions and demands of life, we're tired. We don't want to pray, meditate, listen to god for five whole minutes, much less an hour.
A recent blog by my priest talks about how, when she took on a different, more relaxing form of prayer, she often fell asleep after 10 minutes. I was thinking to myself, "I probably wouldn't last two minutes before my mind would drift off to what I had to do the next day or I'd be snoring."
There have been times that someone in my family was sick or had a problem and needed to talk or needed company. In my younger days, I'd have been able to hang in there and listen and comfort them. These days, I get sleepy. I try to listen, but I feel my eyelids getting heavy and find myself drifting off to sleep.
And on days when I don't have to get up and go to work, I often sleep in. Again, my eyes are heavy with sleep, and my body is heavy in the bed - so heavy it's easy to talk myself out of trying to move it. If I let myself, I could sleep for 10-11 hours most nights. On those days, the rest of my family is often up and about for hours before I emerge.
So this year for lent, one goal I have is to give up some sleep. I want to get up earlier, even on days when I don't have to. I can spend that extra time with my family, praying, walking my dogs or doing something in hopes of making the world better. Also, I will try harder to stay awake and listen to friends who need to talk when all I really feel like doing is go to bed for the night. And, of course, there's Easter Vigil to be kept.
The spirit is indeed willing, but the flesh is, indeed, weak.

'batman' syndrome

This post is sort of a continuation of thoughts that began to develop in a Facebook conversation. However, I needed more room to expound on those thoughts.

I often struggle with how to handle what I've dubbed my "batman" syndrome — my tendency to feel like I want to defend the weak and innocent by exacting revenge on whatever or whomever it was that victimized or oppressed them. It seems like a natural reaction that a lot of people I know have to problems in the world, from child abuse to murder to acts of terrorism — let's put on our cape or our holster and go kick some tail. Not only do I find myself wanting to do this but in some cases feeling like it's what I should do.
At the same time, I'll also be the first to say, "violence is not the answer," or "the cycle of violence has to end somewhere." I'm also convinced these statements are true. Yet, they conflict with my aforementioned syndrome.
To get to the point without much delay, in the end, I'm left asking myself that question that's become a cliche at this point — What would Jesus do?
I've tried to come to terms with the Batman syndrome and the unhealthy influence it has over me, and analysis takes me back to my childhood. One of my favorite, if not my favorite, childhood action hero was Zorro. Dressed all in black, including his black mask, which allowed him to do his good deeds anonymously, Zorro swept in to save the day. He'd draw his sword, out-do his foe and leave his trademark "Z" cut into their clothes, skin, or whatever else happened to be handy. Dating back to the early years of the last century, and making his theatrical debut in silent films, Zorro was pretty mild compared to superheroes who followed. His cause was indeed a noble one, as he often defended the poor against the tyranny of the upper class. Also, I don't recall Zorro actually killing an enemy. He hardly hurt them, mainly sending them to jail. He was more like a shadow of an assistant to the bumbling law enforcement in his village than a Rambo or Terminator.
The 70s featured heroes like Superman hit the big screen, as well as space cowboys like Luke Skywalker - both relatively harmless compared to today's. Some superheroes have even evolved with generations. Again, Batman is a good example - from Adam West to the dark, complex hero most recently depicted by Christian Bale. I am by no means a superhero expert, so I'll put the brakes on my tendency to examine the genre in more detail. The point being that the superhero is depicted as a much more violent, complex being than years ago, and that superheroes are a huge part of our influence growing up. Superheroes are more violent, more vengeful, exacting justice in much more harsh, gruesome ways, showing no mercy.
At the same time, I grew up in church, going almost every Sunday from the time I was about 10 on.
The Bible is filled with verses that tell us to do the opposite of what our on-screed heroes were doing.
"Vengence is mine" or "If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also," are just a couple that come to mind.
On the whole, I believe the non-violent approach is the best. It's how I want to feel inside. Hate and anger destroy the person in whom they reside. At the same time, when someone attacks or hurts someone else on purpose, I've got an easy target at which to aim my rage. I find myself wanting to mount up and eliminate the problem.
How does a person genuinely make the anger turn to a more positive, constructive emotion? Is it ever ok to react violently?
Also, with all the influences we are all bombarded with throughout our lives, why is it that the Batman syndrome seems to win out so often? Why is our response so often more violence?
I would love to hear how others feel about these things.

Back

I am making myself post to get back into the swing of it. My first blog said I'd post each week. As is the way with so many other things, I didn't follow through on that. One thing I have managed to follow through on, though, is the healthier eating. I'm not saying I'm there yet, but I'm on my way. Just so happens yesterday, while watching the Super Bowl, I filled myself with hot wings and ranch. I am allowing myself to eat hot wings twice a year — Super Bowl and Thanksgiving Day, two big football days, especially for a Cowboys fan like myself.
I haven't lost a bunch of weight since I began posting, but I have dropped a handful of pounds. Mainly, I notice my body is more cooperative in so many ways. I'm not as sore as I used to be and have way more energy, just from making a few simple changes. As I had hoped and suspected, my body is appreciative.
Peace.